


anything, anything

by rottencloset



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous Age, Anal Sex, Dry Humping, Frottage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Riding, Sex Pollen, Sexual Inexperience, Size Difference, Size Kink, dc kink meme, softer than the tags make it seem to be, sometime after the dick!bats era but how long is up to u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24667810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottencloset/pseuds/rottencloset
Summary: Dick is running out of time, and Damian makes a hard decision.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Damian Wayne
Comments: 11
Kudos: 184





	anything, anything

**Author's Note:**

> haha “hard”...... geddit
> 
> dcu kinkmeme fill babeyyyy
> 
> TW://  
> Potential Underage  
>  **Minor dubcon ranging to extreme dubcon** (anon pointed out that this comes more across as extremely dubious consent so this is just in case. personally i wrote this to be mild dubcon bc it’s deeply implied both parties are in love w each other + damian is following batprotocol + dick is coherent enough to shove damian away multiple times / willingly starts reciprocating altho he does think it’s a dream / refuse to tell him how to open himself up w the implication dami’d be fucking himself on dick but like //shrugs)  
> Unhealthy thoughts  
> Codependency (?)  
> Minor masochism  
> Damian not knowing his limits  
> Stomach bulge  
> Hint of cockwarming

The thing that does them in is that they didn’t realize the drug incubated itself. It had been stupid, foolhardy; truly a beginner’s mistake. And yet. 

Here they were. 

Dick paced back and forth across the containment room floor, hands digging into his scalp and pulling on his hair as he tried not to hyperventilate. He— they— were so fucked. 

He let out a half hysterical laugh because his word choice had most definitely not been the best because of the fact that it was pretty goddamn soon going to be literal. From across the room, safely on the other side of the thick plexiglass, Damian looked at him with a stoic blankness on his face but Dick could see that he was scared. So so scared. Scared of him. 

(Robin was not, in fact, scared of him. Well, maybe the tiniest bit as he watched his endlessly patient older brother begin to break down, but he was more preoccupied with being scared for him.) 

After a few more minutes of manic pacing, Dick began to wilt. His posture slumps, sweat slicks down his forehead, and his body begins to tremble. Locked outside of the quarantine chamber, Damian watches him with wide, wet eyes and anxiously glances at the Batcomputer.

Analysis is only at 38%, and his mentor is fading fast. 

The two of them were at the old base from their Batman and Robin days, securely locked in tight; no one could get in or out until Dick either got better and decontaminated or— or died. Damian has never been angrier at himself, because he was the one who chose to redirect them to the closer bunker and not the Batcave. They’d both thought that Dick— who’d been stepping in again as Batman for Bruce because of a tech convention he and Tim were attending— just needed to get a quick blood test to figure out why his temperature was skyrocketing and scrub down to decontaminate him, but. As soon as his old mentor had stepped into the chamber it’d shut down, plunging them straight into lockdown because of detection of the foreign strain of gas he’d been unknowingly carrying. 

“R’bin,” He slurs, and drunkenly tips his head to look at him, fingers twitching as he grabs the edge of the borrowed Batman cape and drapes it around himself in an effort to hide his quickly swelling erection. “Stay—stay o-overr th’re, ok?” 

Damian grimaces and clenches his fists. The data that has been collected shows that it’s some sort of mutated pheromone— a new sex pollen, probably because Ivy had stopped production of her famous dosage a couple of months ago as part of her and Harley’s switch to anti-heroes. It’s just him and Richard stuck with no cure (and no possibility of a cure), with Richard fading fast. He’s not sure he can comply with that order. 

(He’s not sure if he wants to.) 

“Grayson,” Robin says into the intercom connected to the room, “I’m not sure I can do that.” 

Dick drunkenly squints at him through the glass and stumbles backwards, face contorting in some emotion he can’t quite identify. “No,” He rasps, “S’ty out! Don’... don’...” His sentence trails off, and he blinks rapidly, a hand coming up to cover his forehead. 

Swaying on his feet, he whips his head from side to side in refusal, muscles starting to twitch with the buildup of the drug in his system. His tongue is thick in his mouth, and it feels like all of the blood in his body is rushing down south all at once. It hurts. 

Breath wheezing, he staggers to the farthest wall away from his former sidekick and collapses against it, limply sliding down to the dirty floor. 

Damian slams the intercom on again and calls out for his mentor, but he doesn’t move or twitch or anything, and when he glances over his shoulder to see that analysis has stalled at 42% he’s already made up his mind. He’ll only have a couple of seconds to slip into the lockdown room once he activates the emergency protocol, so he has to be quick. There’s already medical supplies within there- an IV line, saline, the works- but not anything to make what he’s about to do more comfortable. 

Biting his lip, he glances around the bunker until he finds what he’s looking for; fresher bottled water, some ice that he quickly shoves in a cooler, some old Poptarts and comfort food, and once he scrounges around a couple of pillows and blankets. Everything else he’s going to need will either already be in the room or in his belt, so he can’t stall any longer. 

Holding his supplies, he stands in front of the door and keys in the password, ignoring how the screen behind him blares in warning, and steps into the place where he’ll either save Dick Grayson’s life or kill him. 

The stench of sweat permeates the air, and as fast as he can he drops the supplies off on a medical table and rushes over to his crumpled mentor. “Richard,” he says, and tries to ignore how his voice trembles, “-I’m here. I know you ordered me to stay out, but- protocol states that I should do otherwise and. I can’t let you die. I won’t.” There’s no response, just shallow breathing, and in his mind Damian screams at himself to get moving. But he’s frozen. 

What he’s about to do is dubiously moral at best. What he’s about to do is very likely going to retraumatize Dick and at the very least permanently change their relationship and dynamic. What he’s about to do is selfish, but time has run out for the two of them and Damian’s too much of a coward to try and find another path. He kneels there, hands on his thighs, and watches his Batman’s chest rise and fall increasingly quickly for what seems like an eternity before he spurns himself into action. 

“Grayson, come on, get up.” Damian drapes one huge arm over his shoulder and wraps his own around the man’s bigger torso and precariously stands, trying to balance both his weight and Dick’s at the same time. “You big lug,” he mutters and nearly trips over his feet, “been eating too many microwaveable meals again, I see.” 

The two of them reach the largest bed, and when he lets Dick go he lolls lifelessly onto his side, and that’s when Damian sees it. 

It being the very obvious bulge in his pants. His mouth dries up, because he is so out of his depth and he has barely any idea what to do. 

But he can’t let that stop him. It’s literally life or death right now. Fumbling, he opens the various latches, zippers, and buttons on Dick’s suit and strips it off as best he can, tossing everything but the belt to the floor. 

Averting his eyes away from Dick’s... issue (that he can’t ignore forever, but-), he carefully inspects him, removing his gloves to press his fingers into his pulse point to check his heart rate and probing along his lymphnodes. Dick is hot, too hot, and Damian needs to do something now before his brain fries itself. There’s no more time for dillydallying. He just has to get this over with as professionally and quickly as possible. 

Damian pulls out several packets of lube from the discarded belt and tears them open, trying to decide what to do as he methodically places each one on the bedspread, careful to make sure they don’t tip over and spill. A handjob would be the easiest thing, but Damian doesn’t know if that’s enough. He hopes it is, because he knows very precious little about anything else sex related. All of their emergency planning and protocols barely even outlines what he’s supposed to do in this situation, so he sticks with the thing he’s most familiar with. A handjob. 

Below him, Dick groans and shifts, breaking him out of his reviere. He’ll just have to see. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m _sorry._ “

Trembling, he reaches out with one of his hands and cups the hot side of Dick’s groin, pressing down lightly and closely examining Dick as he reacts. Damian feels himself start to flush in response to his lewd actions and his Batman’s soft, needy pants, but this isn’t about him. Dick’s cock is thick and throbbing in the confines of his briefs, and as Damian hesitantly gives it a pump it very noticeably twitches while the tip begins to dampen the cloth. He doesn’t think about how he can barely fit his hand around his girth, or how he can feel the veins pulse and throb against his fingertips with each stroke or how he kind of wants to dip his head down and lick at that growing patch of wetness that’s starting to fill his nose with the scent of Dick’s heavy musk-

His hips cant up, and Damian, who’s straddling his thighs, yelps in surprise as warmth spreads out from Dick’s crotch. He just came. Damian just made his Batman come through his pants like he’s a horny teenager with just a sloppy, hesitant handjob. Slowly, almost robotically, he removes his palm from his still hard erection, looking down at the smear of slick on his hand. Dick’s cum. 

His own cock, which he had currently been steadfastly ignoring and refusing to touch, began to harden and grow at the sight and smell and feeling, and Damian had to swallow back a humiliating sound. 

“D’mian...?” 

His eyes widen almost comically, and his gaze snaps up from where he had been ogling at his own cum streaked hand. “Grayson-“ He starts to squeak, but he’s cut off by Dick’s legs raising and sliding him forward directly on top of Dick’s throbbing erection and a hand gripping his upper thigh. The bulge rubs against his ass, hot and huge and hard, and he stares down at Dick as he presses him down roughly to grind against him. Damian can’t stop the whimper that peels from behind his teeth, and hunches over the older man, hands scrabbling to steady himself as Dick continues to frot up into him. 

What. Is happening. 

Dick looks up at him, blue eyes barely cracked open but skating over his face like he’s trying to memorize every detail, and he mumbles out something incoherent that Damian only catches the tail end of. “‘S a dream... ‘s not real... so I can...” and suddenly his hips are pinned down as Grayson humps up against his own tiny bulge like a dog. Wildly, Damian moans, and gets caught up in the heat of the situation and unexpected turn of events, slowly swiveling his hips to feel every single inch of the cock that’s rutting against him more roughly than Dick has ever handled him. 

It’s devastatingly arousing. 

The burst of energy that Dick had seems to run out, and his eyes lid again while his limbs slowly lose their strength, and Damian knows he’s going to need another orgasm to get another spark of coherency so he can frantically ask the questions he needs to. 

Cursing quietly under his breath, he removes his clothing as fast as possible while rocking his hips to keep the friction between them up. He gets everything off except his own briefs and the armor that reaches from the bottom of his boot to over his knees before it finally stops at his thighs, and Damian decides he’ll be able to make do with them on. It’s not like its going to get in the way anyways. 

He settles on top of Dick again, feeling warmth curl up in his belly as he sees how their two erections sandwich up against each other through their underwear. Dick’s practically eclipses his, and Damian twitches at the size difference. His own erection is downright puny compared to the other’s, but that line of thought flies from his head as he gets distracted at the way his own dick has wetted his crotch so much that it’s practically glistening with pre-cum. His cheeks warm as he stares down at them, chin nearly touching his chest, and watches as he leaks so much he practically looks like and feels like a bitch in heat. 

The older man below him shifts, and Damian is watching their slow rutting close enough that he actually sees the spurt of pre gush through his underwear and nearly cums on the spot. They’re practically translucent with the sheer amount of fluid soaked into him; he can even see the dark head of his own tiny organ and how it leaks obscenely. He’s disgusting, getting off on how he’s reacting to his drugged up mentor (the one that he’s taking advantage of, his mind whispers,) utterly screwed up in the head. 

In his chest his heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a fist, and his chest tightens. He’s awful. He needs to stop being a horrible pervert and get this over with as soon as possible. 

Damian lowers his chest to Dick’s, increasing their skin to skin contact in the hope of speeding up the process and carefully winds his arms around his sweaty neck. The position allows him and Dick to hump each other as best as they can with their own issues with coherency and size, and Damian ignores how it strains his back and makes his knees ache with every downward buck of his hips. 

Desperate noises reach his ears, and when he looks up at his mentor he has tears in his eyes as he clutches at the bedspread below him, face dark with exertion and body dripping with sweat as he tries to get enough stimulation to orgasm again. He looks like he’s being tortured. (He looks like Damian’s torturing him.) 

His heart palpitates, and like the coward he is he hides his face in the crook of the older man’s neck, ignoring the own dampness on his face in favor of planting kisses on his burning skin. He sucks and bites and nibbles once he notices how Dick’s hips stutter with each mark, and practically gnaws a mural on the acrobat’s ethereal body. 

One deep bite sends him over the edge, and with a shout Dick cums in his underwear again. Ignoring how he throbs painfully within his underwear, he wastes no time and Damian props himself up on one hand and uses the other to tilt Dick’s face towards him. 

He snaps his fingers in front of his mentor’s eyes until they focus on him and then demands, “Grayson, how do I prepare myself?” 

Dick just blinks at him slowly. 

Damian resists the urge to shake his shoulders and instead flicks his forehead with his index finger. “Tt. Focus on me, Richard, and tell me what I need to do.” 

And slowly, fumblingly, Dick gives him his answer. 

Damian peels his sopping underwear off as he listens, and then presumes to follow Dick’s instructions to the letter despite the way his ass aches and how uncomfortable he feels, stretching himself open as fast as possible. Dick ended up fading out about halfway through, but Damian can guess what the rest is. His fingers are coated with lube, messy and sticky as he fingers his hole open, and tries to distract himself with biting at Dick’s collarbone again. 

Dick barely reacts, and terror makes his hands shake as he hurriedly covers Dick’s cock in slick. He squirms back, and crouches above the red, angry prick, his hole hovering just above the head and dripping lube like his body is able to make its own natural lubricant. 

Damian breathes, ribcage trembling with butterflies like it’s made of glass, and flips the girthy cock to stand up straighter, and lowers himself down. The tip kisses his asshole, and all he can think of is how even just the head is pulsing and hot and ridiculously large. It strains against his rim, and Damian whines, high and frustrated. He jerks his hips down, and the bulbous head forces its way into his entrance with a pop and his own cut off groan.

Just the tip is in and Damian is already overwhelmed. 

It’s jabbed up into him, invading him and violating him in a way he never has been before even with just the fat tip lodged within him. A throb and small gush is precum makes him wail, and Damian realizes it’s going to break him and destroy him in ways he never thought was possible. 

But. 

Damian accepts this punishment as price for his mentor to keep on living. 

Maybe he works that fat cock in him as penance, or maybe arousal, or maybe desperation, but he knows and loathes that deep down he loves it. 

Loves having the first person who gave him a home and a chance and unconditional adoration and affection cleave his way within his own clenching walls because it’s the most solid proof of their bond that Damian could ever have. Being full and impaled on his cock is irrefutable evidence, and despite the dubious situation he knows without a doubt that Dick loves him. 

Inch by agonizing inch, he sinks downward. It burns and hurts so badly, but at the same time it’s- good. So good. 

He reaches a certain point, and then he feels like he can’t take any more. But he hasn’t taken the entirety and he wants to, needs to, so with a shuddering breath he rises upward and slams himself down with a mewl. The cock is too girthy, too wide, but Damian still works himself up and down despite the painful stretch. A couple more bobs on the fat prick manages to loosen his hole up enough, and as his mouth parts in a small ‘o’ he slides all the way down to the base. 

Overstimulated and sitting on his mentor’s- father’s- brother’s- something’s cock, he starts to hyperventilate, chest heaving as his tight asshole inadvertently clamps down hard around the dick. It’s too much. 

And yet. 

He fucks himself downward anyways. 

“Richard,” Damian sobs, and lifts himself up from the cock spearing him open, thighs trembling and hiccuping softly. “Richard, Richard, _Richard—_ “ 

He plunks back down onto that cleaving thickness with a wet slap of their hips and a high pitched cry, little dicklet flopping up to graze his stomach at the frantic movement and keens. He’s full, so full it burns, but his mentor is still practically catatonic. 

Whimpering, he grinds down and swivels his ass in a small circle. The dick inside of him throbs in response and twitches, and when he looks down Damian can almost see the outline through his thin belly. But he most definitely feels it as it prods against that sensitive, special spot within him and gasps, feeling his own tiny prick pulse in response as it lays on his skin. It’s sensitive, and he knows he’ll tip right over the edge at even the slightest change of air flow in the room. 

He can’t have that. 

Reaching downward, he grips himself at the base and tightens his fingers to stave off of cumming. Damian feels himself pulse against his fingers and dribble copious amounts of pre-cum, but he doesn’t let up his hold; he needs to last. This isn’t about his pleasure; it’s about survival, and he’ll be able to last longer- keep Dick alive longer- if he staves off of orgasm. At the very least it’ll prevent him from getting even more overstimulated for just a bit longer. 

Gripping Richard’s sides for support, he begins to bounce, punched out little sounds escaping his mouth with each frantic movement. “Ah, ah, _aaah_ -“ 

His nails dig into the flesh below him, cutting pink lines in his skin that lighten and well up with crimson, and as Damian fucks himself on Dick’s cock he distantly watches blood bubble up from the wounds. It’s sort of pretty. 

Damian drifts, hyperfocusing on his task while at the same time a million light years away, and he’s only pulled back when he feels Richard throb hard within him and his hips strain upward, jabbing his fat prick as deep as possible within him as it strains with tension. 

Warmth defuses in his ass, thick and hot, and as soon as he loosens his fingers from their tightening grip around his own small cock he’s spurting milky white against his stomach, keening like a desperate animal. He keeps himself perched on top of Dick, still impaled on the length as his ass milks him for what he’s worth. It might just be him, but his stomach looks the teeniest tinest bit bigger, like being full of his Batman’s seed has made him bloat just the smallest bit. “Oh,” he murmurs, palming over his tummy, “ _oh_.”

Inside and out, he’s been covered in cum. 

Damian doesn’t know what to do. He feels off balance and woozy, Richard’s still hard within him, but he seems to be returning to coherency while in return Damian feels himself slip toward unconsciousness. He simply tips forward, pressing his underdeveloped chest against Dick’s and clumsily drapes one of his warm arms over his back, but doesn’t slide the softening length from being snug in his ass. His hole is sloppy and wet and he feels weird and he’s tired, so confident that his mentor is waking up he lets his eyes lid closed and shut as exhaustion washes over him.

The last thing Damian feels is Richard, big and warm, and he tightens his grip as he slips away into sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on my Twitter (https://mobile.twitter.com/rottencloset)


End file.
